Chapter 5 - The Fall of the House of Cards
"No, no, no," Julian muttered, backing away toward the rear door. "Arthur, please, call them off. I'll leave! I'll sign whatever you want. Just don't let them take me!"
"You're a lawyer, Julian, or at least you pretend to be a good one," my father said coldly. "You should know I don't have the power to call off an active domestic battery and wire fraud investigation."
Eleanor suddenly turned on her son, her survival instincts kicking in. "Julian, what have you done?! I told you not to hurt her! I only said we needed the money, I never told you to be violent!"
Julian stared at his mother in absolute betrayal. "Are you kidding me? You're the one who said she needed to be broken! You told me to remind her who the man of the house was!"
Watching them turn on each other like cornered rats was almost pathetic. The heavy knock on the front door made them both jump.
"Police! Open up!"
My father walked over and opened the door. Four officers stepped into the house. They took one look at my bruised face, then at Julian, who was trembling by the couch, and Eleanor, who was trying to edge away from him.
"Julian Vance?" the lead officer asked. "You're under arrest for domestic assault, and we have a warrant to hold you pending federal charges for wire fraud and identity theft."
"Wait!" Eleanor cried out as the officers moved to cuff Julian. "I have nothing to do with this! I'm just his mother, I'm here for lunch!"
The officer looked at a piece of paper in his hand. "Eleanor Vance? We have a warrant for your arrest as well, ma'am. Conspiracy to commit fraud and extortion."
"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!" Eleanor shrieked as a female officer clamped the handcuffs on her wrists. Her designer dress wrinkled, her perfect hair shook loose. She looked completely unhinged.
Julian, meanwhile, was silently weeping as he was led out the door. He looked back at me one last time, perhaps hoping to see a shred of the woman who used to love him, the woman who used to forgive him. But there was nothing left for him but the cold, hard stare of a woman who had finally woken up.
I watched through the window as they were placed in separate patrol cars. The neighbors had come out onto their lawns, whispering and pointing as the local golden boy and his pretentious mother were hauled away in disgrace.
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When the cars drove off, the house was finally quiet. The oppressive, suffocating weight that had hung over the townhouse for the last two years instantly vanished.
I turned to my father. He opened his arms, and for the first time since I was a little girl, I collapsed against his chest and cried. But they were not tears of sorrow; they were tears of profound, overwhelming relief.
